


Anathema Device and Madame Tracy Summon a Demon

by flameslikeanything



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon - Book, Demon Summoning, Drinking, Gen, I don't think Shadwell counts as a major character death, M/M, gay demon/lesbian witch solidarity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 10:24:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20619488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flameslikeanything/pseuds/flameslikeanything
Summary: He's not very happy about it, but things could be worse.





	Anathema Device and Madame Tracy Summon a Demon

[[See my tumblr for a bonus illustration.](https://flameslikeanything.tumblr.com/post/187676320512/an-illustration-i-made-for-babys-first-fanfic)]

♂♥♂●♀♥♀

“Well,” Anathema glanced at Madame Tracy, who was sitting on the single threadbare sofa in Jasmine Cottage, glass of wine in hand. The older woman nodded at her encouragingly. “Here goes, then.”

She added one more squiggle to the last sigil, closed the magic circle, stood up, and concentrated, digging her fingers into the piece of chalk a bit more than was absolutely necessary.

A few moments later, there was a flash of blue light, and a gaunt figure appeared in the circle. It had a mess of damp dark hair and a fluffy pink bathrobe with matching slippers, and was holding a plant mister in one hand and a potted sansevieria in the other. It looked very befuddled.

“Well,” said the demon, who would have passed for human if not for the glittering scales running up his ankles and the sulfurous reptilian eyes that glowed faintly in the darkness. “This is awkward.”

The demon squinted at Anathema and his face soured in recognition. “Oh. Crazy cyclist who hit my car. Of course it’s you.”

“Wait, _you_ were that creepy man in the sunglasses? You hit me!” Anathema protested, but then thought better of it. “I mean, er, sorry. I--”

“How did you get my sigil, anyway?” The demon was eyeing the chalk marks on the floor now, looking a bit panicked.

“Oh. Right. It was on a little scrap of paper tucked into Agnes’ book when you gave it back to me. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize--”

Crowley dropped the plant mister on the ground and grabbed his face with a melodramatic groan. “Right. Of _course_ the daft bastard would just leave _that_ lying around.” He then set the potted plant down carefully and waved a hand in a complicated gesture, vanishing everything else he’d been summoned in with and replacing it with a peacock green suit and a pair of sunglasses. “Anyway,” he said, smoothing his hair back, “Did you _want_ something, or can I be getting on, then? I promised the angel I’d drive him to his manicurist in the morning, and it’s a long way back to London without a car.”

“Oh, no, sorry, we just wanted to see if it worked,” said Anathema sheepishly.

“Oh!” Madame Tracy chirped. “I recognize you, you’re Aziraphale’s young man! He didn’t tell me you were a demon.”

“He tends to leave that detail out,” Crowley sighed, then turned to look at the woman on the sofa. “And you, you’re er, you were his body for all of five minu- wait, what do you mean his ‘young man’?”

“I think,” said Anathema, kneeling to quickly wipe part of the circle away along with one of the binding sigils, “She just means she got that impression. And, um. She’s not the only one.”

Crowley just stared at her with an incredulous expression.

“I mean, I don’t mean to pry. Just, we won’t judge if you are, you know, together.” Anathema paused, reflecting on the absurdity of saying this to an entity that was most likely immortal and probably considered current human social prejudices to be rather quaint. Even if he was dressed like a flash bastard.

“Anyway, you can leave now if you want.”

Crowley just stared at the floor, and his shoulders sagged. “You know, I’ve known him for six thousand years, and even _I_ don’t know what we are.” Then he remembered himself. “Right. But I didn’t come here for relationship advice. In fact, I didn’t want to come here at all!” He waved his hands in the air in irritation and then strode irritably towards the cottage door.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Anathema called after him, “I, er, I had to break things off with Newt a few months back, because I,” her voice got a bit smaller, “I realized I like girls.”

Crowley stopped and turned on his heel. His fondness for humans of a particular persuasion wasn’t as overt as Aziraphale’s, but on more than one occasion he’d found himself hiding in the corner of a dark bar, sipping something expensive and picking up on the repressed homosexual urges of various individuals around him, subtly altering reality and planting suggestions in their minds until two of them would finally notice each other. Sure, he was technically making their lives happier, which wasn’t something he was supposed to do, but he was pretty sure most humans on the enemy team had some rather strong opinions on man lying with man and all that, so anything he did to act against their cause had to be proper demonic activity, didn’t it?

“I. Um. I suppose I could stay for a few minutes.”

Madame Tracy made room on the sofa and Crowley flopped down on the edge of it, then curled up on himself like a nervous ball python. 

“Something to drink, dear?” Madame Tracy shoved a fresh glass of wine in the demon’s face.

Crowley took the glass and flicked a forked tongue at it suspiciously, then remembered that Aziraphale was the wine snob, _he_ just liked getting drunk enough to forget his own name. He shrugged, and gulped down most of the wine in one go. “Thanks.”

“So. Er.” He said, relaxing a bit and turning to Madame Tracy, “What happened to your. You know. ‘Young man.’”

“Oh, it was dreadful, poor dear.” Madame Tracy looked a bit sad, like someone remembering that they’ve lost their favorite pair of earrings. “Poor old Mister Shadwell, he went out for a walk one morning, and the neighbor’s cat was pregnant, and she rolled over in front of him, and all of those nipples, you know? His poor old heart just couldn’t take it.” She sniffed.

Crowley nodded. “Always figured that was how he’d go.” And he didn’t say,_ And now my people are probably having an awful time dealing with him._

“After that I just couldn’t stay at Shangri-La, so I moved back to London. And then last month I was at a psychic convention and ran into Miss Device, and we started talking about one thing and another, and well,”

“We’re starting a witches collective!” volunteered Anathema. “I mean it’s just us so far, but we’ve only just started, and…”

“And I just know we’re going to have plenty of lovely young ladies joining,” said Madame Tracy. “Maybe someone will catch your eye, my dear?”

“Er. Maybe,” Anathema blushed. 

“Hm, yes, lovely hobby, I wholly approve.” Crowley swished the bit of wine in the bottom of his glass around thoughtfully, then refilled it with a glance. “Just maybe go easy on the whole demon-summoning business, wouldn’t want you running into someone like Hastur.”

“Who’s Hastur?” asked Anathema.

“You don’t want to know,” Crowley hissed, and drained his glass again.

♂♥♂●♀♥♀

Two hours had passed, and the Serpent of Eden had gotten drunk enough to vent about his relationship woes to a pair of mortal women.

“What I mean’s um...after the Apoc- poca- after the world didn’t end, drove him back to my place, right, thought his bookshop was just a lot of ash and dust...more dust’n usual, right. So we get in the door, he kisses me, lips and everything. And then he decides he’s gonna...he’s gonna sleep right in my bed, with me in it. And usually he doesn’t even like sleep, y’know? So I don’t know, does that mean he likes me? I mean must be lonely, not a lot of other angels around in London, probably have to be pretty desperate to go snogging a demon and all. Can’t think of what else it could mean. Seems reasonable.”

Crowley idly held up a hand in front of his face and tried to count his fingers. Even with his demonic night vision, everything seemed to be blurring into the candlelit gloom.

Anathema leaned back in an ancient leather armchair that she’d picked up off of a neighbor’s curb. “I mean, I don’t know why he would do any of that if he didn’t like you? Unless there was a prophecy involved, those always go messing everyone up.”

Crowley sagged. “Oh. Prophecies. Right. He collects those bloody things.”

“Well there you go, then.” Anathema waved her glass around for effect. “Just have to find out if he’s got any prophecies personally addressed to him about getting intimate with a demon who’s been his only friend and he’s been going out on lunch dates with every week with for um...how long did you say, again?”

“Er. Thousand years, give or take. Minus the nineteenth century, I sort of um. Slept through that.”

Anathema blinked. “Wow. What did he do all that time you were asleep, then?”

Crowley snorted. “Went out and made friends with _humans_. Took magic lessons. Learned to _dance_. Probably got _real _close with those blokes at the Hundred Guineas Club.” He gritted his teeth. “Yeah, really had the time of his life when I wasn’t around.” Then he softened a bit. “‘Fcourse he did look after me. Pretty much just moved into my place and made sure no nosy human decided to wander in, find a twenty foot viper curled up under a bedsheet, freak out and cut my bloody head off or something.” 

Madame Tracy gasped quietly.

Anathema’s brow wrinkled. “Wait, twenty foot vip-”

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “‘Snot important. Just a thing that happens. Anyway, he kept me out of trouble with work, too. Learned to forge my signature and just straight up did my job, the amazing bastard.” He sighed. “I never did properly thank him for all that.”

Anathema tried not to think too hard about the implications of an angel doing a demon’s job. “Wow, that’s, um. If I met a girl who did all that for me? I’d just marry her on the spot, you know.” 

Crowley stared into his empty glass, his brows knitting together, and a faraway, mournful expression settled onto his face for a while. “Well,” he said finally, “if I meet any nice young witches, I’ll be sure to point them in your direction.”

Anathema smiled. “You’d do that for me?”

“Sure,” Crowley shrugged. “I mean, I’m a demon, you’re a witch, figure us spooky characters ought to look out for one another.” He turned to Madame Tracy, “And if I meet any nice old warlocks who don’t call women horrible names for doing something as wholesome as dabbling in the occult…”

Madame Tracy waved a hand at him, “Oh, don’t bother yourself over me, dear.”

“No, no, it’s no trouble, I-” Crowley squinted at the faint light coming in through the curtains. “Oh bloody he- somewhere, sun’s up.”

Madame Tracy clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh no, dear, we’ve _kept_ you.”

Anathema leapt up, flustered. “Oh, no, we can’t let you be late for your...well I guess it’s not really a _date_, but still.”

Madame Tracy wrung her hands. “I suppose we could take my scooter, but it’s not very fast.”

Crowley stood up and held out his hands. “You know what? Don’t worry about it.” He cringed the alcohol out of his system and hunched his shoulders. There was a sound like a hundred umbrellas all unfolding at once, and the cottage was suddenly full of feathers. “I’ll just fly.”

The demon shook out his wings a bit and then folded them neatly against his back. “Have to give the old things a bit of a stretch every now and then anyway, or they get horrible cramps.”

Both women stared in awe. Apparently they’d had that moment on the airfield a year ago wiped from their memories.

Madame Tracy clasped a hand to her chest. “Oh. How beautiful. They’re like an angel’s.”

Crowley looked uncomfortable. “I mean, yeah. Used to be one and all. Didn’t cut them off or anything when they kicked me out.” He began to edge towards the door, scuffing his heels on the carpet.

Anathema looked down at the remains of the magic circle and noticed the sansevieria. “Oh!” she bent down to pick it up. “Don’t forget your plant.”

“Oh. Er. That one’s a disap- it’s a gift. You can have it. Just. Um. Put it somewhere sunny and water it once a week.” _And give it the love it deserves,_ he didn’t say.

Anathema looked at the plant. Its leaves were a bit irregular, and it had a faint aura of anxiety, but it looked healthy enough. “Well, I guess the place could do with a bit of greenery.” She set it gently on a windowsill.

Crowley, meanwhile, had been shuffling pointedly towards the front door and was now fumbling ineffectually with the lock. Anathema swept over to help, casting one surreptitious glance at the unearthly pinions shimmering near the demon’s thigh. “Um. Let me, it’s a bit unintuitive.”

The door rattled open. Crowley shivered as the cold night air hit him, but imagined his jacket to be a bit thicker and more woolen and darted outside.

He turned around and gave an awkward wave. “Er, thank you both for the lovely evening. Really do have to be going though. Ciao.” 

Anathema and Madame Tracy watched as the demon spread his wings, and with a sound like a thousand startled pigeons, leapt into the air. He waved back at them one last time, then vanished as he cast a glamour to keep from startling less occultly-inclined humans and, presumably, flapped off towards London.

“What a lovely young man,” said Madame Tracy. 

“Kind of an awkward way to get to know him, though,” murmured Anathema, escorting the medium back inside.

“Don’t suppose we should try it again?”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You heard what he said about...Haister, or whoever.” Anathema nudged the copy of _the Lesser Key of Solomon_ that was still sitting on the floor a little father under the sofa. “I think we should both just try to get some sleep.”

Madame Tracy nodded, sadly.

♂♥♂●♀♥♀

Outside, the sun crept lazily over the horizon and began to stain the sky pink.

Somewhere high above the Chilterns, Crowley cursed the cold air at this altitude, but just flew anyway. Aziraphale was waiting for him.

♂♥♂●♀♥♀


End file.
